The Consequences Series Box Set

by Aleatha Romig

  These were people completely off the FBI’s radar. Upon further investigation, Harry learned the Masons’ deaths had been officially ruled accidental—a tragic fall from a trail, while hiking in the Grand Teton National Park. If Rawlings hadn’t admitted to knowledge of this incident, it would never have been found. Each year, about 150 people die in national parks. Most went underreported; some visitors slipped on wet trails or leaned too far over guardrails. Regardless of the incident, they made poor publicity for the nation’s national parks and received little attention. Up until that moment, no one suspected that the death of Jonathon Burke’s only daughter, Allison, and her husband were anything other than a true accident.

  Soon, the FBI would contact their niece, their only surviving relative, and seek permission to exhume their graves. Tissue samples were needed to confirm the presence of actaea pachypoda.

  The next people on Rawlings’ and London’s list were Emily and Claire Nichols. This was the next generation: children of children of children. Rawlings admitted to watching Claire off and on for years. He didn’t know why he was obsessed, but he was. Although a fatal accident had always been the plan, Rawlings found it unacceptable. He told Catherine that there were some fates worse than death and created the perfect storm of events for what he assumed would be Claire’s worse fate. It involved orchestrating circumstances in her life which would lead to Claire’s need for money—his one expendable asset. He coordinated her disappearance, with the intent to allow Claire to work off her family’s debt while discrediting her credibility at the same time. When he was done, her arrest, humiliation, and incarceration would secure the payment of her debt and allow her to live. He didn’t foresee emotions derailing his plan.

  Reading Rawlings’ account of his acquisition nauseated Harry. He couldn’t help but compare it to hearing Claire’s account months earlier. The difference was the emotion. Claire recounted a private hell: Rawlings recited a well-calculated plan.

  Claire also answered FBI questions. Her accounts mirrored Rawlings. He’d confessed everything to her before the questioning. Never once did either one of them mention actaea pachypoda, or any connection to poison. Months ago, Harry petitioned for blood samples from Jordon Nichols and Simon Johnson. His requests finally came through. It took longer than he expected, which didn’t matter. Since Claire and Rawlings were playing house somewhere in the South Pacific, time wasn’t an issue. The results were irrefutable: Jordon Nichols’ retained blood sample tested positive for actaea pachypoda. Simon Johnson’s did not.

  Interestingly, the transcripts of Rawlings’ admissions, which Agent Jackson shared with Harry, also contained information on Simon Johnson. He wasn’t associated with the Sherman Nichols’ case, yet Rawlings included Johnson in his list of confessions. He stated Johnson’s demise was simply a byproduct of learning what was possible. Rawlings had learned it was possible to make people disappear. His first choice was by business. If that didn’t work, then there was always plan B. Rawlings utilized the network he’d discovered years ago. This time, he willingly paid the money to have Simon’s plane altered, forcing it to cease functioning in-flight. Rawlings knew Johnson was an accomplished pilot and said he wasn’t sure if Johnson would be able to maneuver out of the situation; nonetheless, he paid to have a job done.

  When the case began, Harry thought verification would give him peace. He was wrong. It was just as Amber had said: Rawlings was still out there, and Simon was still dead. There was something else. Harry’s law enforcement gut wouldn’t drop his suspicions. The evidence didn’t match. The NTSB’s report indisputably claimed Simon’s plane was in topnotch inspection worthy condition. No evidence of tampering was found during their investigation. Why would Rawlings confess to a crime he didn’t commit?

  And Jordon Nichols? Harry had more questions than answers. Why would Rawlings admit to knowing about the plan, claim it was never fulfilled, yet have him poisoned? Could it be that Rawlings was trying to mislead Claire? But why plan an auto accident if poisoning were already on the agenda? Was Rawlings just that big on overkill—literally, or was there more?

  The back-alley attack and threat to Harry’s family also bothered Harry. Why would Rawlings want him off the case and threaten Harry’s child, if he were planning on confessing everything?

  Of course there was still London. Perhaps she was the one threatening Harry. Claire said she threatened her child. Did she want him off the case? How did she even know he was on the case? All of the interaction with London alluded to her being blissfully unaware that she was under suspicion. According to Marcus Evergreen, London was only cognizant of the case against Rawlings for the possible recent abduction of Claire Nichols.

  The entire country was aware of such allegations. After all, John and Emily Vandersol were still pursuing that angle to anyone who’d listen.

  Claire rolled on the large bed, relishing the soft sheets against her skin. After their campout in the cabin of the boat a few weeks ago, their bed was much more comfortable. Smiling, she reached for the man whose warmth filled her days and nights. Instead, her touch met cool satin. Lingering in her cocoon, she enjoyed the ceiling fan’s gentle breeze as it moved the humid air around the grand bedroom. When she closed her eyes, the scent of his cologne permeated her senses. Beyond her haven, she heard the sounds of morning: birds singing their morning wake-up songs and the ever present surf.

  Forcing herself from the heavenly bubble, she reached for her robe and walked toward the veranda. A veil of tropical vegetation filtered the sun’s sultry penetration. Stepping around the fragrant flowers and large, lush leaves, she took in the marvelous view. Even after over two months, it still took her breath away. Leaning against the folding wall, she relished the endless blue sky with wisps of white filling the space above the horizon. On most mornings, turquoise dominated. Sometimes, if the sun were just right, the waves sparkled fluorescent. Farther out, away from the shore and her paradise, the waters darkened. The blue became indigo, purple, or gray, often reminding her of the fog-covered mountains near Palo Alto.

  Wearing a white bikini and white lace cover up, she made her way to the front lanai. As her bare feet padded across the smooth bamboo floor, Madeline’s friendly rich voice brought her to present. “Madame el, may I bring you tea?”

  Claire smiled, “Yes, Madeline, thank you, but please, no food. I’m not hungry.”

  “No, Madame el, you must eat. I’ll bring you muffins and fresh fruit.”

  Claire shook her head—arguing would be pointless. She settled into the cushioned lounge chair, elevated her feet, turned on her iPad, and waited for the daily news to load. It wasn’t the first story to appear on her homepage, but her own picture immediately caught Claire’s attention. She clicked and read the title:

  Family Files Charges against Iowa City Police Department, Prosecutor, and Anthony Rawlings.

  Shaking her head, Claire read:

  Associated Press—John and Emily Vandersol have filed formal charges against the Iowa City Police Department, Marcus Evergreen, I.C. Prosecutor, and Anthony Rawlings (in absentia).

  Mr. and Mrs. Vandersol have requested a hearing based on evidence discovered at the home of Anthony Rawlings. The request states the evidence, currently undisclosed, is sufficient to establish probable cause against Anthony Rawlings. The Vandersols also charge Mr. Rawlings with extortion. “Anyone else would be sitting in jail. It’s only because of his wealth and influence that ICPD and Mr. Evergreen have not filed charges. Their delay is corruption.” (Another of the many charges listed). The Vandersols claim the prosecutor and police department worked together to protect Anthony Rawlings. In doing so, the ICPD jeopardized the investigation of Ms. Claire Nichols’ disappearance. Mrs. Vandersol also charged Mr. Rawlings (in absentia) with the disappearance and possible death of her unborn niece or nephew.

  Claire’s hand rubbed her very large midsection. Now in her thirty-fifth week, she smiled, knowing that no harm had come to her unborn child. She honestly didn’t beli
eve that would be the case if she’d remained at Catherine’s disposal. She continued reading:

  Ms. Nichols was last seen September 4, 2013. Mr. Anthony Rawlings disappeared after his private plane made an emergency landing in the Appalachian Mountains, September 21, 2013. The FBI will not confirm or deny the survival of Mr. Rawlings following this incident. The FBI refused additional comments claiming an ongoing investigation. Currently, no charges have been filed.

  Rawlings Industries is currently operating with a temporary CEO and the same board of directors. It has been speculated that the pending charges will force the SEC to investigate Rawlings Industries. Since September the share price has dropped from $142.37 to $86.84 at last call.

  Despite her reading material, when Claire realized she’d eaten all of Madeline’s food, a smile appeared on her face. Madeline’s voice came above the sound of surf. “Madame el, may I get you more tea or perhaps some water?”

  “Madeline, I’d love some water. It’s getting hotter by the minute.”

  “Then perhaps you should be in the water?” Her husband’s rich, husky voice came from behind. She couldn’t see the handsome source, yet instantaneously her neck tensed and goose bumps appeared on her arms and legs. It amazed Claire how something as benign as a voice could continue to incite such a visceral response.

  Madeline saw Claire’s reaction and laughed, which in turn, made Claire giggle. Claire loved Madeline’s laugh, so deep and rich, just like her voice. “Madame el, I will bring you some water, and Monsieur?”

  “Madeline, I’d like some coffee, please.” Tony bowed toward the woman.

  Laughing at his gesture, Madeline replied, “Why, of course. I’ll bring it out soon.” With that, she disappeared, leaving the lady and gentleman of the house alone.

  Tony reached for Claire’s shoulders and gently massaged. Closing her eyes, she sighed momentarily lost in his touch. His lips unexpectedly met her exposed neck, causing goose bumps to erupt up and down her arms and legs. His baritone voice brought her back to reality. “My dear, your shoulders are tense. You saw it, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “I had hoped to make it home before you did.”

  “Because…” She paused. “…you wanted to stop me from seeing it?”

  Still massaging her shoulders, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “No, I wanted to be here while you read it.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. “I just wish John and Emily would back off. It’s hurting Rawlings Industries.”

  “We’ll be alright.”

  She inhaled. “I know. I understand their ignorance is best, but I can still wish for Iowa.”

  He came around in front of her, sat on the lounge chair near her tanned, shapely legs and caressed the silky skin of her thighs. “We’ll get there again. I promise. First, we have a little one who needs to join us.”

  Claire reached for his hand. “It’s getting closer every day.” She placed his hand on her hard midsection.

  “Why is it so hard?”

  “I think it’s one of those contractions, not the real ones: Braxton Hicks. Remember Dr. Gilbert told us about them? They’re happening with more regularity.”

  “Do they hurt?”

  Claire loved the concern in his voice. “No. They just feel strange.”

  “How will you know when they’re real?”

  She shrugged. “From everything I’ve read, I’ll know when they are real.”

  His lips engaged hers. It wasn’t the fervent passion they were known to share. Instead, Claire felt reassured that Tony would be by her side as they welcomed their child into the world. He removed his shirt, revealing his tanned abs, swim trunks, and a mixture of dark and white chest hair. Finally, he found his voice. “Are you up for a swim?”

  She smiled. “I just ate. Aren’t I supposed to wait for a half an hour?”

  “I promise to keep you from drowning.”

  His devilish grin captivated her once again, rendering her defenseless to his desires. With a smirk, she replied, “I think I should’ve learned a long time ago not to trust you.”

  He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side. His tone held a hint of amusement as he leaned toward her. “I should’ve learned: I’m helpless to your beautiful emerald eyes.” Her fingers threaded through the curls on his chest as her gaze lingered on his chocolate eyes.

  In the pool, Claire held tightly to Tony’s shoulders relishing the coolness of the water. Her thoughts went back to the article and her sister and brother-in-law. “I’m so sorry about John and Emily. I hate what they’re doing to Rawlings Industries.”

  “I’ve been watching it too. It seems to me that Tim is doing an excellent job of building confidence in Rawlings Industries from within. He needs that inside support to get the support outside the company. I’ve always had a good feeling about him.”

  “I remember you telling me that, a million years ago, when we went to the Simmons’ barbeque.”

  Tony laughed. “That was a million years ago, wasn’t it?”

  Laying her head against his shoulder, she nodded. “It sure seems like it. Is there any new information from Phil or Agent Jackson?”

  “Well,” he hesitated, causing Claire to look up. Although she couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, from his secretive smile she knew he was up to something.

  “What?”

  “Phil said he’s been released from his current job. He doesn’t believe Sophia’s in any danger. Catherine has worked very hard to introduce and include herself into Sophia’s life.”

  “Then I’d say she’s in danger.” Claire added quickly, “But not enough for you to go protect her. I need you here.”

  “Yes, you do. You may be pleased to learn who else will be here… let’s say for your Christmas present.”

  Closing her eyes, Claire sighed. “A little Claire or a little Tony would be the best present. I’ve loved most of this. It’s just lately, I’m so tired and uncomfortable.”

  “We really do need to pin down some names. I’m not comfortable with either a little me or a little you?” He smirked. “You see, I really like the big you, and when I think of the name Claire, the feelings that ensue are totally inappropriate for my daughter.”

  “Big?”

  Laughing. “You know what I mean. Now first, back to your Christmas present.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, it won’t be the exact one. Phil can’t exactly ask Catherine to go through our bedroom, but he did see your wedding band. After all, he’s the one who bought it back and brought it to me.”

  Claire’s voice perked up. “You’re getting me a wedding band for Christmas?”

  “More than that, Phil will be here in less than a week to deliver it. I thought you might enjoy company, and since he’s the only one we can have, my choices were limited.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love it! Thank you.” Then she realized. “But wait, what can I get you for Christmas?”

  Kissing her lips, he said, “I’m not picky. A girl or a boy would be fine.”

  “I’m not due until the second week of January. Will you take your gift late?”

  “Only under one stipulation.”

  “So, now there are stipulations on gifts?”

  “Yes, my dear, and before you start with that beautiful, smart mouth of yours, let me say that this one isn’t debatable. I must insist upon it.”

  She shrugged. “Rather demanding, but I guess I’m used to it. What do you want?”

  “That nothing happens to you while my gift arrives. I’ve read a few things too. I thought maybe if Phil were here, if we need anything, well, the man is very resourceful.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She kissed his cheek. “But I love that you’re concerned.”

  “My dear, you are my only concern.”

  Claire felt the tightening sensation once again. “Oh, I think someone else wants to be your concern, too.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five


  Truth, like gold, is to be obtained not by its growth, but by washing away from it all that is not gold.

  —Count Leo Tolstoy

  September 13, 2016

  Last night, I was too shocked to write. I had to think about what happened, mull it over, and figure it out. By the time I got Claire back to the facility, she was no longer speaking. I don’t understand. She was still hearing me; every now and then her eyes would register and lock onto mine. Then she’d look away.

  I’ve decided she gave me a test. She knows that I know her story. Her recognition of her surroundings is new; it didn’t exist last month, week, or even a day ago. If she isn’t ready to share this revelation with others, I guess it isn’t my place to divulge it. I just hate that I won’t be around to help her move beyond this milestone.

  I’m off to my last day. I’ve decided that I owe it to Claire to allow Emily to fire me. My husband reminded me last night that I’ve been in violation of their restraining order. I’d actually forgotten that—which is in a way comical. This whole exercise has morphed through so many phases—curiosity, investigative reporting, recognition of guilt, and finally, a deep agonizing friendship. No one will believe that I’d given up the reporting to help Claire. At least, as I sit in jail, I’ll know the truth.

  Claire paced the trek she’d created next to her bed. Since she’d found her voice last night, she was anxious to use it. Yes, she considered speaking to some of the other people, but she was afraid. There were so many things she couldn’t recall, so many voids, and so many things that didn’t make sense. It was painfully obvious: this facility, as Meredith called it, was a mental facility. She had recollections of discussions about that. Each day, more memories surfaced. Some were clearer than others. She remembered Tony telling her that the offer of a mental facility was to protect her. Was that why she was here? Was she being protected?